GRIEVING (Post-ep for Emily, 5x07)
by SpookyCrispita
Summary: After Emily s death, Mulder helps a broken Scully recover from her grief. This story takes place in Season 5.
1. Part I, Chapter 1

**GRIEVING (Post-ep for "Emily", 5x07)**

SUMMARY: After Emily´s death, Mulder helps a broken Scully recover from her grief. This story takes place in Season 5.

This story has 5 parts, one of each covering a different stage of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

SPOILERS: Christmas Carol, Emily and a bit of Scully´s cancer arc.

CLASSIFICATION: Angst. UST. MSR. NC-17. A bit of case file.

DISCLAIMER: Of course, I don´t own Mulder, Scully, Xfiles or any of the other characters, cause if I did, we would have seen lots of sex in it. Just saying.

AUTHOR´S NOTES: So here comes my very first fanfic written directly in English, but it wouldn´t have been possible without the invaluable help of my good old friend Mauricio, who has patiently corrected all the mistakes that my good, but still never perfect English, has produced. Infinite thanks, also, to my Xfile friend Ali, first one to read the fanfic and first one to encourage me to dare writing in English. Thanks for our Xfiles and not Xfiles-related conversations, for sharing much more than our passion for the series: for sharing a way to understand, process and live this world. Thanks to the wonderful FB group "The X-Files obssession", which has given me the opportunity to (virtually) meet some amazing people (Clara, Vered and Jules, among others) who share my madness. Finally, thanks to all of the above for worrying and taking care of me when my health is not in its best condition. I hope I get to meet all of you personally!

Finally, I would like to apologize in advance for the mistakes that you might still find, please have in mind that English is not my mother tongue! I´d really appreciate reviews, so feel free to give me your opinion, for better and for worse.

And... enjoy!

 ** _Part 1: Denial_**

 **Chapter 1**

 _Mulder´s point of view (MPV)_

"I´m fine".

There they are, those two simple but powerful words. I´ve heard them so many times coming out of my partner´s mouth that their meaning has, somehow, striped off from them and the time has erased all trace of sense. As if they ever meant what they were supposed to mean, anyway. Because the truth is that Scully is _not_ fine now, the same way she wasn´t fine any of the countless times I have received that same answer from her over the years. No, she is definitely not fine and the growing knot in her throat is really just confirming my deepest fears. 'Cause, how the hell could she be alright when she has buried her daughter less than 72 hours ago? Who, in their right mind can face a tragedy like this, the unnatural fate of having to see your own child die? She is not fine _at all_ and I can´t help but nodding, powerless to speak. Because I have no idea of what to say, I have no clue of what can be said to make her feel a little better, what are the exact words to wipe away the perpetual tears that get in her beautiful, everlasting blue eyes every time Emily´s memory crosses her mind. So I nod stupidly, helpless, as if there was nothing else I could do in this situation, which, in fact, there was _not_.

There´s a saying from Confucius that my mum used to tell me when I was little and it goes like this: " _If what one has to say is not better than silence, then one should keep silent_ ". I have never really understood the meaning of this words as, for me, one should never stay silent, no matter what painful or inconvenient truth you are about to speak. And, thinking about my own mother, I have to say that those were quite an interesting selection of words, coming from a woman that has done nothing else but remaining silent ever after my sister disappeared (no wonder why she has never mentioned Confucius again). But, right now, while I stand next to my partner in the mortuary watching her selecting from different types of mortuary plates, while I look at her unreadable face with my unavoidable expression of fear, I think I couldn´t agree more with the Chinese philosopher. " _I´m fine"_ , she said to me when she caught my worried gaze after the man in the mortuary had asked if she wanted the plate with or without Emily´s picture. I nodded silently following Confucius advice, but I managed to take her by the hand before she answered " _Without_ " and remain there next to her through all the process, stroking tiny circles with my thumb over the petite smooth palm of her hand.

 _Scully´s point of view (SPV)_

"Take me home".

My voice came out weaker than I expected, barely a sigh. Mulder met my eyes with concern written all over his face, but he was clever enough not to ask the same obvious question again. Because as well as I always reply with the same two words over and over – _I´m fine, of course I am, not like if I had just lost my daughter, you know –,_ I´m also incredibly tired of always getting the same question, sometimes vocalized and sometimes unspoken, sometimes with his words but most of the times, with his eyes. I can´t avoid my cynical answer just as much as he can´t stop questioning, worrying for me. And I know just how crazy it drives him to listen to my lies all over again, but I can´t do better, I don´t know better, because there´s no way I am answering honestly, there´s no possibility of breaking the walls that I have been building with so much effort for the last five years and to let him inside them, inside this little frightened heart of mine that can´t stand _any_ of this anymore, that it´s about to break in pieces for good and forever. So that´s why he always gets the safe answer, the controlled one, because if he had any idea that this character of mine is just a façade, if he knew how close I am to collapse, he would run the hell out to Skinner´s office and ask for my transfer ASAP. But instead of that I keep showing him the serene, cold, consistent Scully that he is used to, the one that never breaks, no matter what, that always stands up with her high heels on and her flawless hair ready for the next stroke. That is the Scully I have become, that is the Scully I have created for him, and I doubt he would be able to deal with the real one.

And, so, he doesn´t say anything besides nodding, placing his hand on the small of my back as we exit the mortuary.

 _MPV_

The wall of silence raised between us is so big that I can almost feel it over our heads, pressing down on us like a heavy mass of air. Scully hasn´t said a word since she entered the car ten minutes ago, when she automatically hid behind the cold wall she likes to impose to tepegraph the message that everything´s fine, wiping out all traces of the tough time she had just faced in the mortuary. She has remained still for the last ten minutes, her mouth shut and her eyes lost somewhere in the highway to Georgetown. I´m searching for something to say; yet, I just can´t find anything that doesn´t sound too naive for the circumstances. But, as we get closer to the city in the low traffic of this Saturday evening, I realize that it´s only a matter of minutes until we arrive to her neighborhood and I lose her for the day. And that scary feeling just pulls the words out of my mouth before I´m even conscious about it.

"Do you want me to take you home or do you feel like going anywhere else?"

She looks at me confused, like she has just arrived from a far distance and my words sound vague to her. She is silent for a moment, until she comes back to reality and processes my question.

"I´d rather… I´d rather go home, please." She replies, looking at me with her impossible light eyes. "I just need to be alone".

I was expecting that kind of answer even before she pronounced it, but that didn´t help the pain that got momentarily stuck in my chest with her petition, her will to be alone. And as much as I tried to smile and remain illegible, she knows me far too good to pretend she didn´t recognize just how much her answer hurt me.

"I´m sorry, Mulder. I didn´t mean to be rude". She apologized, glancing down to the floor of the car. "But I don´t feel like doing anything else right now".

"It´s all right, Scully, I understand. There´s no need to apologize. I´ll take you home so that you can rest properly". I tried to sound nice and cool, hoping for her to buy it.

But, of course, she _did not_ buy it.

"I know you are just trying to help me here, Mulder, and I really appreciate that". The look in her eyes showed a vast gratitude as she spoke. "It´s just that it´s been a difficult day and I feel like sleeping it off". And then she added those last words, which caught me completely off guard due to the spontaneity of them: "But maybe you could join me for a cup of tea before I head to bed for the day".

Because my partner can be many things, but spontaneous is definitely _not_ one of them.

 _Before I head to bed for the day_. Oh yeah, I could see the appropriate selection of words that she used, the remark of bedtime in her last line. She was trying to say goodbye to me but she didn´t have the heart to deny me an elegant farewell before she left. And as much as I knew that she was just compensating for her absent minded attitude of the last few days and that she was expecting no more than a polite negative reply from me, the thought of leaving this woman alone, alone with her memories and alone with her suffering, just broke my heart. So all I could do was accept her offer, even though I knew that it was just mere courtesy.

"I would like that, yes". She was as surprised with my reply as I was seconds before with her offer, but she managed to hide the disappointment somewhere in her beautiful, complex brain and to show me a small fake smile.

 _SPV_

I thought I had had enough tension for the day, but it was clearly not over yet, present while we waited for the elevator to arrive to my floor. We had stood as far away from each other as possible, given the small size of the elevator, aware of how little space we had between us, but also of how many unspoken truths separated us, many more than any physical distance. I could feel Mulder´s sidelong glance, but when I eventually found the courage to meet it, the elevator was already in my floor and Mulder opening the door, anxious as he was for space. He left the door open for me and gave me an impeccable smile.

"After you", he said like the perfect gentlemen than he can be, waiting for me to get out of the elevator and walk down the hall to my place.

I returned him the smile and walked out of the elevator. He followed me while I searched for the keys in my purse, placing his hand on the small of my back. _Again._

When I had first met him, I had hated his refined but somehow patriarchal manners, like if I needed help to walk or, even worse, like if I needed the hand of a man leading my way. But, as time went by and his gesture of courtesy became and old habit between us, I learnt just how much I actually liked it, how it speaks about the genuine and deep tenderness that Mulder feels for me, and the care with which he treats me. The fact of having Mulder´s complete attention over myself in that darkest hour of my life, which I was pretty sure to be going through at the moment, made me feel a little bit of relief.

And yet, _only_ a little bit.

As I entered my place, I replied to his courtesy with more courtesy.

"Make yourself comfortable", I told him pointing at the sofa while I headed to the kitchen. "I´ll be back in a minute".

It took me less than five minutes to prepare two cups of green tea – my favorite -, and I actually enjoyed this little time away from him. When I was back from the kitchen with a tray in my hands I found Mulder sitting on the edge of the sofa, hands in his pockets and his leather jacket carefully folded in the back of the sofa which was, by the way, something not very typical from him. As much as I love his casual weekends outfit, I could sense he was not feeling comfortable at all and he was trying to compensate by taking care of the little things. He looked at me when I entered his field of vision and automatically stood up to help me put the tray on the coffee table. He was trying to keep it cool, but I knew him too well to see that he was feeling anything but cool right now. I tried to repress a sigh of fatigue. If only I didn´t know this man _this_ well, some things would be simpler with him sometimes.

Ok, but only _some things_. And only _sometimes_.

"Green tea, of course." He joked. "My favorite". I had told him thousand times about the natural benefits of Green tea, something he had taken as seriously as every other time that I would try to get him into healthy food. That means, unsatisfactorily, of course. I gave him half a smile and pretend to wear my offended face, which in our private language meant that it was ok for me to having him joking about my healthy lifestyle, something he finds (inexplicably) amusing. I was now expecting a reply like " _You sure know that the way to a man´s heart is through his stomach, Scully",_ as I knew how much he disliked teas in general, but he just looked me back with a warm smile and put some sugar into his cup. I think he thought it wasn´t time for jokes and, as much as I appreciated his caution, I actually could use a little bit of humor myself, particularly after all the drama of the day. After all, I´m not the drama queen type.

"It´s good, thank you". Mulder had two more sips of tea before he returned the cup back on the table. He let the silence run for a bit while I drunk my own tea, and then he added, in a low voice: "I´ve been there before. I know how much it hurts."

I stared at him, incomprehension written on my face, so he tried to explain himself further.

"In the mortuary, I mean. With your mum. That was three years ago, when you were missing". I nodded at him but didn´t say anything, not very sure where he was going with this. "She asked me to go with her, the same way you did today".

"It sounds like her". I said, this time showing a bit of a smile. "She has always trusted you on anything that concerns me". I made a pause and looked at him directly into the eyes, because I knew how important my next words were for him: "She likes you from the beginning".

"Yeah, she does. Only God knows why". He showed me a genuine smile which was a mixture of joy and certain shame, as if he wasn´t worthy of her appreciation.

I could think about a couple of reasons, but I decided to let him continue, wherever the conversation was going.

"She helped a lot, your mum. It took me a while to realize, but she always found a way to help me put myself back together despite the gravity of the situation. She irradiates peace, and that helped me cope with your disappearance".

It was in that moment when, all of a sudden, I realized where that was _really_ going.

"Mulder, no. Please." I tried to cut his suggestion before it was even proposed.

"Scully…" Mulder stretched the sound of my name, unsure on how to proceed. "You shouldn´t be alone right now. You have… you are going through a lot. Maybe staying with your mum for a while isn´t such a bad idea…"

"Mulder, really, I´m…". I felt his hand in my shoulder before I was even aware of what I was about to say. He stared at me with a harsh expression in his eyes, and he shook his head.

"Don´t. Please." He said, he almost _pleaded_. I tried to avoid the pain in his eyes, letting my last word die in my lips. _I´m fine…_

This time he was the one repressing a sigh, only that this was a sigh of frustration. Silence touched us for a moment there, neither of us daring to speak first, feeling the space between us getting larger as Mulder let his fingers slide down over my shoulder and back to the sofa.

And then he said what he had wanted to say from the very beginning, hands shaking and eyes looking down the table, unable to meet my gaze.

"Then, maybe… Maybe I could stay here with you for a couple of days… Or you could come to my place, if you prefer…"

I felt my heart leap for a second, powerless to reply anything, to find the words in my mouth. I tried to stay still, to control the little revolution that was happening inside me, to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. He clearly misunderstood my silence, because he looked at me with embarrassment in his eyes.

"I´m sorry, I wasn´t implying anything by that… I meant here in your sofa, of course". I could feel his face blushing while he spoke, and I wondered how flushed my own face was already looking.

"Mulder, I appreciate your concern, I really do". I tried to give him a tender smile with my reply. I didn´t want him to think I was inconsiderate, so I managed to use a softer tone in my voice when declining his offer. "But I really feel like being alone right now".

"Ok, then". He didn´t insist on that matter, aware of the futility of it, though he _did_ try with a different strategy, one that somehow outraged me even more. "But why don´t you take some days off work, make a trip or just take some time until you feel better… I´m sure I can survive without you for a couple of weeks". He added that last sentence with a shy smile, trying to sweeten his suggestion, although we both knew he wouldn´t last even a week without me.

So then I used those other four words that are favorites in Mulder´s list of "Scullyisms", right under _I´m fine._

"I need to work, Mulder".

This time he didn´t bother to suppress the sigh.

"No, Scully, you need to rest and take care of yourself…"

But I was starting to get tired of his excessive concern.

"Mulder, really, I just want to go back to work and continue with my life…"

"Scully, please, take your time…" He wasn´t even listening to me anymore, frustrated at my constant negatives.

"Mulder, really, I´m _fine_!" It didn´t come out on purpose, but I didn´t have time to process the words before they were already said, before they were already _shouted._

It took him only half a second to reply, with his eyes full of ache and the fury in his loud voice:

"Like HELL you are!"

I knew he regretted the comment right away, unusual of him to lose good manners with me, to disrespect this equal, almost _sacred_ , relationship between us. As far as I remembered, that was only the second time that I had heard him use the _hell_ word with me, being the first time when he was about to discover that he was indirectly responsible for my cancer.

"I´m sorry..." He started, guilt crossing his desperate eyes.

But as much as I knew that he was indeed sorry, I couldn´t do anything to help him, anything to help us.

"Mulder, I think you should go."

"Scully, please..."

I felt an infinite fatigue, the amount of a day, of _three_ days that had been mentally exhausting for me.

"Mulder, please. Go."

My voice sounded stronger than I had actually intended to, leaving him no room for discussion.

"Yeah, I think I´d better leave".

He took his leather jacket from the sofa and left towards the door. It was only before he left my place that he turned to me and added, his voice just a whisper:

"So sorry."

And then he left, leaving me there alone with an unbearable silent and my overwhelming grief, lonely as I had asked, as I had _fought_ for, brokenhearted for the second time of the day.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 2 OF PART I


	2. Part I, Chapter 2

SUMMARY: After Emily´s death, Mulder helps a broken Scully recover from her grief. This story takes place in Season 5.

This story has 5 parts, one of each covering a different stage of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

SPOILERS: Christmas Carol, Emily and a bit of Scully´s cancer arc.

CLASSIFICATION: Angst. UST. MSR. NC-17. A bit of case file.

DISCLAIMER: Of course, I don´t own Mulder, Scully, Xfiles or any of the other characters, cause if I did, we would have seen lots of sex in it. Just saying.

AUTHOR´S NOTES: Thanks so much to everyone reading this story and finding it good enough to spend some time with it. And thanks so, so much, to Hearts A Mess for her beta reading: thanks for your effort, suggestions, corrections and time! :-)

 ** _Part 1: Denial_**

 **Chapter 2**

 _MPV_

I thought that Monday was never going to arrive. If I was normally bored to death during my weekends, with not too much to do rather than searching for paranormal mysteries in the news, or visiting the Gunmen to chase even more paranormal mysteries in the news, right now Scully was all the mystery I was interested in. I hadn't heard from her since I had left her place on Saturday after that disastrous conversation that didn't go _at all_ as I had expected, even though I had expected it to go bad anyway. I thought about calling her on Sunday and had picked up my phone to dial her number a couple of times, but I'd always hang up before the first ring. I really didn't know what to say.

 _I'm sorry_? Yep, she knew I was.

 _How are you?_ She's fine, of course.

 _Do you have plans for this Sunday evening?_ "I might go and place some flowers on Emily's grave, do you want to come with me?" Or, even better, "I'm going to church to pray a little bit for that other Emily's life somewhere on heaven, that spiritual place you don't believe in. Feeling like joining me?"

I could call her and ask her to join me and the Gunmen for a beer, a bit of chat about wild muddled theories and conspiracies, but I doubted that was her ideal plan for grieving. Lately we had been spending time together on weekends, needless to say that always with a professional excuse. Underneath it was just as a simple fact that we wanted to spend some more time together, just as normal people did. But, of course, we were _anything_ but normal.

In any case, it didn't seem like the time to call and invite her to come with me to search for whatever occult facility that had ties to the government (which I was pretty convinced hid alien technology and blah, blah, blah you can guess the rest). No, it wasn't time to be such a selfish dick. I assumed that could wait until Monday, when we would _not_ talk about what happened on Saturday. I would also _not_ ask her how she was feeling and she would _not_ tell me that she was fine, and then we would move directly to working in the next case that interested me. That was called communication, wasn't it? I knew we didn't need that team-building seminar…

So it was Monday again and there I was, seated at my desk, still alone. First to arrive to the office (as usually), looking at a new case folder but really not seeing anything. I couldn't take my eyes from my watch, impatient for Scully to arrive and talk. Ok… not really _TALK._ You know, just talk, without italics. Talk, with lowercase letters. I needed to see her, satisfying the instinctual need to check that she was ok. Well… not really _ok_. Maybe, _fine_ (you know what I mean). One way or another, I just wanted her to arrive so we could not talk and I could check that she wasn´t ok, but that she was fine as always, and we could pretend that everything was also fine and nothing had happened and no one had died recently, and we could add this to the list of secrets that we both carried with us. I needed this unhealthy, insane dynamic of us to carry on, to give some sense to my work… and to my day, and to my life. Because as much as this relationship was odd and unusual, and maybe defective- it was still the best relationship I had ever had. Shit, it was the best _anything_ I had ever had in my life. And the funny thing is that it wasn't even a relationship in the strict definition of the term, but I knew for sure that none of the few, shallow, dissatisfied relationships I had had in my life had ever been half fulfilling as this one. Even without the physical intimacy. And that was saying a lot, considering my favorite type of movies… if you know what I mean.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the phone ringing. I picked it up, still looking at my watch, for a moment worried that something might have happened to Scully. I felt relieved when I heard Skinner's restrained voice on the other side of the line.

"Agent Mulder, is Agent Scully there?"

Good morning to you too, Assistant Director.

"No, sir. She hasn't arrived yet," I replied, surprised that Skinner was actually checking on our timetable; something he had never done before.

"Good, I was hoping I could talk to you privately. I wanted to tell you about this new case that you have been assigned to. Did you have a chance to take a look to the case report?"

I looked down at the folder that I had been opening and closing for the last fifteen minutes. Let´s say I had taken a couple of looks, yeah, a thousand for that matter, none of them actually worthy retaining information.

"I was just starting with it right now. Anything important I should know?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I'm concerned about Agent Scully. I'm afraid this isn't the best case for her right now after... after what has just happened."

Skinner had known about Emily's case when I requested some days off, initially to testify in Scully's favor for Emily´s adoption, and then again to help her with all the necessary proceedings for the funeral. Asking for days off was something that Skinner wasn't used to, even less twice in a week, so I eventually had to be honest with him and update him on the matter, because I needed the days off and also because I was worried about Scully and wanted Skinner to try and convince her to take some time for her, something which had had the same fruitless results than my own attempts. From that moment, both Skinner and I were concerned about Scully´s well-being and doubted that coming back to work right away was what she needed at the moment.

I opened the case report as soon as I heard him mention Scully´s name, this time really paying attention. I didn't have to read much: the pictures of dead children spoke for themselves. I felt my earlier breakfast coming back to the throat, suddenly feeling upside down at the horrible views in the photos. 9-10 year-old children with their bodies, or the _remaining_ of their bodies, completely burned, their faces and even their extremities unrecognizable, black charred pieces of human flesh.

"What the fu… what is this, sir?" I almost let my emotions get in the way of my manners, shocked as I was after seeing those brutal pictures. I was used to seeing dead bodies all the time in many and varied ways, but the view of dead children was always a hard, unnatural one. One that reminded me that this life was short, that some lives didn't have the chance yet to enjoy, to love, to err, to _live_. There wasn't any trace of life in those pictures: death was all they got.

"I know- the pictures are… disturbing. Four dead children in ten days, four different states; Texas, Colorado, Georgia and Illinois- and no clue of what is behind these deaths." After he had informed me, he lowered his voice, insecurity slipping of his voice as every time he spoke personal: "This is going to be a difficult case, especially for Agent Scully."

"Is there any way we can get rid of it? I mean, what is special about this case that has been referred to us?" I hadn´t read the file yet, but at first it just looked like an unfortunate case of epidemic. Well, not _just,_ don´t get me wrong, but I didn´t see paranormal stuff anywhere.

"Authorities didn't see anything strange at first apart, of course, from the terrible conditions of the bodies. These weren't even related cases, but they all had something in common: seconds before the victims died, they whispered a name. It turned out to be the name of the next victim. The connection between cases wasn't made until local police shared the information inter-agency."

"What do you mean by 'speaking next kids name'? Like name and surname?" This case had all the ingredients to intrigue me enough to work on it. In normal circumstances, I would be questioning every element and creating theories. But these weren't normal circumstances, and all I could think right now was how Scully would react to these horrible pictures.

"No, just the first names – Peter, Jenny, David. That´s why the police didn't pay that much attention to it, thinking that maybe the kids were just trying to communicate with a classmate – they all died at school, in class, with the rest of the classmates and the teacher witnessing it."

"How did these kids die? It looks pretty awful from the pictures." I couldn't avoid the question, though I was expecting the macabre answer.

"They burst into suddenly flame, without any reason. Needless to say that no accelerants were found. They just started to burn in the middle of the class. Imagine the trauma for these kids in these schools. When they found out that the four kids had died the same way, social alarm just spread all over the four states."

"I can imagine. Has anything come through from autopsies?"

"No, the four of them were inconclusive. They all agree in the cause though; spontaneous human combustion."

Ok, you people know how much I loved those two words. _Spontaneous combustion_. That was like bones for dogs, like flour to bakers, like Scully to Frohike. And, still, an unknown skepticism unexplainably born inside me was just determined to ignore the X-File in this file.

"Well, it´s an uncommon way of dying, that´s true, but it´s nothing that hasn't been documented before. And what´s with naming names? Are we supposed to see a relation based in what- the testimony of 10 year-old kids after extreme trauma? Yeah, seems very reliable to me." I didn't know where all this skepticism was coming from, but it sounded a lot like Scully sounding off in my ear.

"The teachers heard the names as well. Lends a bit more credibility."

"If you say so…" I added, irony unconsciously infiltrated in my words. If Skinner was offended by my tone, he didn't call me on it. Even though I appreciated that, it didn´t change my outlook on the case. "And have the detectives or the FBI made any connection between the four kids?"

"No, not at all. Different schools, different friends, states, families. Nothing to relate them."

"Any summer camp they might have gone together to? A trip, maybe?"

"They are checking that now but haven´t found anything so far. It seems a long process though, many camps and youth organizations don´t keep a written track of their students and events, and some others just throw it away after a couple of years."

"Well, it seems like they have work to do." Irony. It must have been in my coffee this morning.

"Agent Mulder, _you_ have work to do. They've run out of ideas and are now open to new ways of researching, and that´s when you and Agent Scully appear on scene."

I said nothing and I heard Skinner sigh on the other side of the line.

"They've heard about your reputation in these kind of things and they want to try all the possibilities to solve this case before more kids die."

" _If_ more kids die, you mean." I was being such a pain in the ass that I momentarily felt bad for Skinner. I knew how tiring it could be to have someone correcting and pointing out every word you said.

Believe me, I have _a bit_ of experience in the issue.

"Agent Mulder, these are direct orders from above. The last victim was the son of the Deputy Chief at Chicago Police. He has asked the FBI to work together with their precinct to find out what or who is responsible for these atrocious deaths. I assure you I have tried everything to take this case away from you because of the timing, but they expressly said that they wanted the X-Files unit to work on it."

So now they want Mr. Spooky's advice? Just the only time I didn't feel like giving it? I laughed at the irony of it.

"We are not even a unit, sir. We are just two spooky agents working in the basement of the FBI headquarters. We are the laughing stock of the department. I don´t see how we can help."

"Cut the crap, Agent Mulder." I was glad to be seated; otherwise, I would have fallen for sure. "I know how much this kind of cases interests you. It's Agent Scully who you're concerned about, and so am I, so you can stop being a jerk."

Crap and jerk. Yep, that basically described me.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I think this is the worst case Agent Scully could face after her daughter's death. Are you sure there´s nothing we can do to refuse it? Can't we have someone else working on it?" I knew my hopes were vain, but I had to try anyway.

"I´m afraid not, Agent Mulder. No one else has your level of expertise in this area."

So now we were a unit and an area. Well, well, I wondered how many more things we were named without my knowledge.

"Sir, I really think this case can be harmful for Scully." I omitted the Agent on purpose, trying to transmit him that my concern was way more than professional.

"I am aware of that, Mulder. But my hands are tied in this. That´s why I wanted to speak to you beforehand. I was hoping we could convince Agent Scully to withdraw from this case. I´m sure you can take care of the case yourself. After all, it's your knowledge and attitude they are really looking for."

Certain memories from Saturday crossed my mind briefly, reminding me how tense my relationship with Scully was at that moment.

"I' afraid that is going to be impossible. I tried to speak with her last week and convince her to take some days off, but she refused the suggestion."

"Yes, I know. She refused that same suggestion from me and something tells me that she'll refuse this one too. I think I will have to make it look more like an order and less as a suggestion, if you know what I mean."

I nodded into the phone. "Yes, I know what you mean, sir."

"Good. Can you tell her to come to my office when she arrives?"

"I will, sir. But… please, don´t be too hard on her."

"I won't, Agent Mulder. It´s in her best interest." Skinner sounded determined and confident, and I felt I could trust him, something I was starting to feel lately.

"I know. I will tell her when she gets here." And just before we both hung up the phone, I added: "And sir? Thanks for doing this."

"No thanks needed Agent Mulder."

 _SPV_

I felt so _empty_.

Well, empty didn't even begin to describe it. I felt drained, useless, insufficient.

I felt barren. I _was_ barren.

At first the news hadn't been that tough. It had been painful, of course. One of my dreams suddenly ripped from inside me, literally and not that literally. But the relief I felt after recovering from cancer had given me a completely different view on things; had made me feel so lucky to be able just to keep breathing. To keep on living after being told such bad news, instead of sinking me, it made me stronger. It made me believe that it was just another obstacle in my way, never as high and hard as the cancer with still unknown origin that I had just battled and recovered from. So if I was able to recover from that, I would be ready to accept whatever plan God had for me.

Or so I had _thought_.

Because I didn't see this coming, I didn't think I could live something again as difficult as I had just lived in such a short time, not even half a year after my recovery. The truth was that I wasn't expecting anything like this. I was expecting dangerous cases, more impossible lost causes that my partner had decided to fight for, and maybe some other unpleasant surprises courtesy of our beloved Cigarette Man. But I wasn't expecting this. I wasn't expecting _her_.

And then, Emily came into my life, both unexpected and briefly, the same way she got out of it. She came to me and all my defenses went off- all my resignation disappeared and a wide, unlimited hope started growing deep inside me. A hope that things could be different, that my prayers had been answered, that maybe life was compensating me for all the pain and the suffering, for all the lost that I had had; that maybe, only maybe, I deserved this, that if life did apply a policy of carrot and stick, it was time for carrots. And so I had collected the carrots hopefully, only to find a couple of days later that my expectations, my hopes, were futile.

It had all gone so fast and I didn't have the time to actually be with her, to get to _know_ her better, to show her how much I loved her. Because the truth was that I had begun to love her from the first moment I knew she was my daughter. I loved her so much in that time, not even doubting a second before requesting her adoption, conscious as I was that it would change my life completely. I didn't have the opportunity to test that because she was gone before I could even win that battle. She was sicker every day, reinforcing that she was never meant to be, just as my fertility. And I had clutched at straws, the same way Mulder did with my cancer, except this time it hadn't worked. Nothing had worked for her and I had had to see her die in front of my eyes, powerless and horrified, begging please, don´t make me go through this now, please, please, don´t ever make me go through this.

But my prayers weren't answered _this_ time.

And now she was gone. She was there one week and wasn't the next. It was something unacceptable, something I just couldn't convince my mind to hold on to. I couldn't assimilate the news, I couldn't process such a pain in such a short time.

I had it and I lost it. It was gone before I could create some more memories to combat the battle. And that feeling was overwhelming, being aware of the hugs that I would never give her, the ice creams that we would never share, the homework I would never help her with, the memories that we would never create. It hadn't been enough- it wasn't enough with the short time we had shared, it will never be enough. And the worst thing was that it was never happening again: I was barren now. I was barren and I felt it all the time. I couldn't get Emily out of my mind, and that was a constant reminder of my infertility; a 24/7 mental notice. It reminded me that it was a _definitive_ fact, one without turning back. And suddenly, the pain didn't seem that manageable, the news of my sterility didn't feel that easy to digest anymore.

Cause something had _broken_ inside me.

I had lost my force. There was no fight inside me, no dream, no motherhood, no nothing. I was empty in all ways. I had no energy left and I didn't know how much I could stand it, how long until I failed, until I fainted.

I didn't know when I would break, but I sure knew _how_.

The _how_ was seated in the office when I entered that Monday morning. He immediately closed the folder he had open in the desk and look at me with remains of fear hidden deep into his eyes.

 _Those_ eyes.

I could drown in those hazelnut sad eyes, those eyes that stared directly into my soul. It was his weapon to disarm me, to draw me into him. It was the way he said everything to me without words, a powerful attraction I had to fight against very hard to try to keep focused when he was explaining me his interpretation for a new case, a gaze I had to avoid many times if I wanted to maintain focused on my scientific counteroffensive.

And recently, the eyes that looked at me constantly inquiring, questioning me more than ever, trying to undress my mind and my thoughts. I was so afraid of those eyes, afraid that I couldn't deceive him any longer. I was scared that I would eventually not be able to keep saying that I was fine, that I would end up losing it.

"Hey," he said to me, crossing his arms over the desk, nonchalantly trying to hide the folder beneath them.

"Hey," I replied, trying to elude his eyes and staring directly to the folder. "New case?"

"Ehhh… yeah, new case." He frowned, sounding unsure. "But first, you need to go see Skinner. He just called and said he wanted to talk to you when you arrived."

"Just me?" I raised my eyebrows with disbelief, as I do when Mulder shares with me his irrational, improbable theories.

"Yep, just you." I waited for him to explain, but he didn't.

"Ok, then. I´ll back in a bit." I added while heading the door, not conscious that coming back for that case was exactly what Mulder and Skinner where trying to avoid.

 _MPV_

My partner was in denial.

I had studied the process of grief many times over the years during my time in Oxford, and I was very familiar _myself_ with the stages. It had taken quite a long time for me to move on from that first stage after my sister´s disappearance. I had suffered the initial reaction to the loss, disbelieving the fact that she was gone. I was very aware of those terrible, confusing first moments, incredulity being the only key to deal. Unable to process such a painful truth that your body, your _mind_ , uses denial as a defense mechanism to cope with the very first moments of pain. I had been there for a very long time and knew how deteriorating it could be if you extended this temporary response.

That's why I knew without a doubt, that Scully was stuck in that horrible first stage of her mourning. And that was something that worried me, not just because it was only the first of five long and hard stages, but because she had a tendency to deny her suffering. I did not want her to get stuck in there indefinitely. It was easier to pretend the pain wasn't there, easier to deceive yourself. I had been there.

Hell, sometimes I even wonder if I am _still_ there.

Sometimes I wonder if I have really moved on from that first stage, if I´m still denying her disappearance by creating little green men, if my eternal search for the truth is just a mechanism to avoid confronting her loss. Because I want to believe, yeah, but do I really know in what?

For my partner the loss was much bigger, the loss was unthinkable. Realizing that you have a daughter just days before she dies, let alone months after you have discovered that you can´t have children. Tragedy after tragedy. I couldn't get in her shoes even if I wanted to, even if I wasn't the miserable egocentric that I am; but I could feel her pain. I could see the suffering in her eyes, in her silence, in the tears she wouldn't let herself cry. I could even feel it in the way she answered to me that she was _fine_ , each time with more effort and less conviction than the last one. I wanted to help her- I wanted to help her so badly, to be there for her for whatever she needed from me. But I felt powerless because she wouldn't let me, she wouldn't let anyone help her make the process a little less painful or allow someone to not let her go it alone. She refused all help, wherever it came from.

And I was just about to discover that again…

"So talk to me about this new case," she said, entering the office with determination and sitting in front of me, her eyes cold as ice and her feelings locked deep inside.

Although I already knew the answer, I asked anyways, "Have you talked to Skinner?"

"Yes I have, Mulder. And I told him exactly what I told you on Saturday."

I doubted how to proceed, scared to precipitate things again and end up as disastrously as two days ago, but more scared that she would fall apart with the pictures of the new case.

"Scully…" I didn't add more, begging with my lips but, mostly, with my eyes.

"Mulder, we have already discussed about this. I need to work."

 _Don't go there, Scully_ , I was about to reply. But I bit my tongue and looked at her, a desk and a thousand unsaid secrets standing between us.

"Ok, then." I broke the look and started informing her about the case, but my typical passionate tone was missing. "Four deaths, ages between 9 and 10, four different states. They all died in class and in the same circumstances: spontaneous combustion."

I was expecting now for her to roll her eyes or add an ironic comment, but she sat there with an indecipherable look on his face.

"Police couldn't find any origin for the fire in any of the four cases," I continued explaining the case. "The connection between the four kids is a bit weak in my opinion, but it's believed that every victim spoke the name of next victim just before dying."

"Let me see it." Scully pointed at the folder. I froze, but my partner wasn't in the mood for my protection. "May I see the folder, please?"

"Scully," I managed to find my voice again. "I don´t know if Skinner has told you about…"

"Yes, I know, Mulder. Skinner has already warned me, thanks," she added without even trembling, her hand extended in the direction of the folder.

I sigh, and then I handed it over. Please don't break into pieces. Please _don't_ , my mind willed.

She opened the folder and leafed through the pages until she found the pictures. She just stared at them silently, her face a cold mask. If she was broken inside, she was doing a good job at hiding it.

I breathed again and continued talking so that she couldn't concentrate deeply in the pictures.

"Anyway, they want us on board because they've tried all the conventional methods and haven't resolved the case yet. It seems they're willing to spend as much money as needed in order to solve it. Guess who the father of the last victim is?"

"So you knew," she suddenly stated.

I looked at her, confused. "Excuse me?"

"You knew all this time that I was barren."

Was that a question, an observation, or a recrimination? Something inside me told me that it was the latter.

"Scully…" I looked at her with guilty eyes. "As I said- I thought I was protecting you."

I could have sworn her eyes misted over.

"You knew and you didn't tell me."

"It didn't feel like the time to tell you. You had just recovered from your cancer-"

"I had the right to know."

Her words hurt me more than a sharp knife. Because she was right because I was one sorry son of a bitch, and because I had no excuse.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Lately all I was doing was saying how sorry I was. To Scully, to my boss, to myself.

She didn't say anything else, breaking eye contact and taking a moment to recompose, to rebuild her armor.

"So what´s next?" She asked, eyes dry again, pointing at the folder then.

"They… they want us to be in Illinois ASAP, where the last victim died. I've already booked a ticket for the 11:45 flight…" I felt her murderous gaze on me and quickly added: "… but I can buy one more ticket if that´s what you want."

"You do that. I'll go pack." She gave me back the folder, stood up and silently left the office.

 _SPV_

It was snowing in Chicago when we landed. The new year was just beginning, a year of hopes and desires and wishes. January was the month for planning, the month to amend the errors and to start all over again.

How I wish that I could do that too, that I knew _how_ to do that.

We made the trip in silence, both in the plane and in the rental car we hired at the airport. The silence was uncomfortable, but no more than the last conversations we had had. Mulder had the world _guilt_ written all over his face and barely looked at me. I was a block of ice at that moment, maybe not the best of the attitudes, but the only one I could use to successfully hide the pain and the rage and the anger. I was trying to control so many emotions that screamed to get out unbridled.

Mulder followed the road signs to Naperville, a little town situated 50 km away from Chicago. It was supposed to be a quiet and safe town, according to the testimonies of the classmates and neighbors of David, the last victim. Before visiting the family, we made a quick stop in a road motel in the outskirts of Naperville.

"One room or two rooms?" The lady from the motel asked without lifting her eyes from the reception desk, emotionless and sounding very bored.

"Two rooms, please." It wasn't my intention to sound angry, but it did anyway.

"Can the rooms be next door to each other, if possible?" Mulder´s soft voice sounded urgent, even kind of desperate.

The lady nodded and picked up two keys from the key hangers behind her.

"Rooms 5 and 6, right at the end of the hallway."

We left our luggage in the rooms and headed to the car. We did it all in silence, but somehow acted in unison, even when Mulder decided to drive once more.

We knew each other too well, even when we were angry.

Mulder had a quick look of the map and headed in the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Garner, David's parents. We had been warned, both by Skinner and in the reports, that Marta Garner wasn't in condition to speak with us and that it would be Rob, the Deputy Chief at Chicago Police, who would inform us about the case. I didn't know if he was the strong one, but being as he was the Deputy Chief, I was sure he had seen some other horrible cases like this before. And yet, that didn't help not even a bit, that didn't make things better. It just filled you with an inconsolable rage and irrational desire for revenge. That was probably what he was hoping for; to find the cause, to solve the case. Maybe that way he could give a little bit of peace to his son, the peace he and Marta wanted desperately.

The Garners lived in a wealthy neighborhood close to the city center. The sidewalks were wide and streets were clean, and gardens looked carefully mowed. A group of kinds were playing football in the streets when we arrived. They looked healthy and happy. The whole neighborhood did. It hurt to find that some people _did_ have everything, that there were happy families with happy kids living in happy, safe neighborhoods. It hurt because I knew that wasn't meant for me, because I knew I had lost my last chance to enjoy something close to what you could call 'a normal life.'

"I'm Agent Fox Mulder and this Special Agent Scully from the FBI." My partner explained while we both showed our IDs to the man who answered the door.

"I'm Rob Garner. Come in, Agents. I was expecting you."

We entered the house and followed him to the living room, a large welcoming space that had nothing on an IKEA catalog.

He seated in an armchair and we did the same in the sofa in front of him. He then realized something and stood up again. "I'm sorry, I almost forgot. It's my wife who normally takes care of these things. Can I get you something to drink?"

Mulder and I shook our heads.

"No, thanks," Mulder refused kindly. "We're fine."

I wondered for a moment if he had used that last comment ironically.

"Ok then," Rob gave us a forced smile, a smile that couldn't help but showing a profound sadness. He looked tired. His bloodshot and puffy eyes revealing the lack of sleep.

He then proceed to inform us about the details from the case, though most of it we had already read it in the report. His 10 year-old child had died, immolated three days ago in the presence of his classmates and his teacher during Math´s course, around 11.30am. Coroners citing spontaneous human combustion as the only explanation, if that was even an explanation.

"Do you know of anyone who was on bad terms with your son, maybe any classmates he didn't get along with?" My partner asked, redirecting the interrogation to a place I wasn't expecting, as usually with him. I hadn't even considered the deaths to be homicide, sure as I was that what was responsible for the deaths was more biological than human.

"No, not at all. David was a very popular kid, you know? He was fun and intelligent and was really good at basketball. The rest of the kids admired him." There was something in the way he said that last sentence that made it sound derogatory, like if the rest of the kids were less than his son.

"What about a summer camp or a school trip? Do any of the other victims names ring a bell?"

"No, none of them. David had a lot of friends from camps and trips, but he used to talk about them all the time. He wrote them letters and called them from time to time, and during school holidays he sometimes met some of these friends. Believe me, we would have known about the other kids if they had been David´s friends."

"Sir, do you really think there´s a connection between these cases? Do you believe the names are related and not just coincidence?"

If I didn´t know my partner as well as I did, I would say his words were a bit skeptical.

"You tell me that. You are the experts in this matter," Mr. Garner's voice sounded slightly offended. "Look, I´m not more convinced about this than you are, but it´s the only thing we have so far. Plus, I can´t find a reason why his friend and his teacher would lie about David talking before dying."

It was my turn to intervene.

"Have you called the Unit for Viral and Bacterial Diseases Research?" There wasn't any mention about it in the report, so it didn't surprise me when he shook his head. "We might need to do that first, maybe they can tell as something else about the nature of the combustion."

"You can do that, Ms. Scully. Whatever it takes to find out who is responsible for my son´s murder." He didn't doubt in referring to it as murder.

"Who or what, sir," I corrected, but he stared at me- half confused, half annoyed.

"What do you mean by that, Agent?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Garner, we can´t assume that this is a homicide. We might be looking for a biological epidemic or a new kind of virus that attacks the regulation of the corporal temperature-"

He interrupted, this time not trying to hide his irritation. "I'm pretty sure my son was killed, Agents. I can´t explain why or how, but my little boy didn't die just by accident or a virus. He wasn't sick at all and he was playing basketball the day before he died. I can assure you this was a murder and I won´t stop until I find the murderer."

I would have normally insisted carefully that he might be wrong, but I was too exhausted these days to deal with such an effort. I nodded and looked at Mulder, who nodded back and asked Rob to show us David´s bedroom upstairs.

There was nothing useful for us there. David's room looked just as any other kid´s room: 3 or 4 posters in the wall, a dozen toy cars of different models, bed sheets decorated with the stars from the Chicago Bulls. We had a quick look and went out of the room just with David´s diary as a piece of evidence. When we were about to go downstairs, we heard the noise of moans. Mulder and I looked at each other and then at Rob, who stopped and stood in front of his wife´s room for a moment.

"Excuse my wife, she is not feeling well these days," he said as he opened the door a little bit and talked to her with a soft voice. "Marta, sweetheart, the FBI is here. Do you feel like talking to them? Whatever you can tell them might help solve the case."

Her reply sounded weak and fragile even through the door.

"Leave me alone. No one can help me bring my little David back."

I couldn't blame Marta for her self-pity. It had been three days since her son had died and she was still in shock. It was only five days since Emily's death and I wasn't much better than her, still wondering how to keep it together, for how long I could keep it together.

And then, those pictures.

I had barely remained composed when Mulder gave me the folder, but the images were stuck on my mind for the rest of the morning. I had vomited my breakfast when arriving home for packing and I hadn't eaten anything else so far. Hell, I didn't think I would be able to eat anything for the rest of the day.

Rob apologized again for his wife and accompanied us to the entrance door. "I don't care what crazy theories you have- I just want to find the son of a bitch who did this to my kid. Feel free to use all of our resources you need."

"Thank you, Mr. Garner. We will be in touch." We shook hands and exited. We then started to head towards the car, but Mulder stopped and turned to speak to Mr. Garner again. "One last thing, Mr. Garner. What is the name that David said before… before he died?"

"Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. The name he said was Emily."

I felt the world starting to spin around me, fast and unstoppable. Vaguely I saw Mr. Garner head inside, oblivious. The ground beneath my feet felt unstable and I was incapable of controlling my legs or my feet anymore. And then I knew I was going to lose it- I was going to lose it right there in front of my partner. I could see Mulder's lips moving but I couldn't hear what he was saying. I couldn't hear anything, couldn't focus on anything. I felt myself falling, Mulder´s face falling away from me while my body got closer to the ground. The last thing I remembered were my partner's arms wrapping around me before I hit the ground.

And then, I fainted.

 _TO BE CONTINUED IN PART II_


	3. Part II, Chapter 3

SUMMARY: After Emily´s death, Mulder helps a broken Scully recover from her grief. This story takes place in Season 5.

This story has 5 parts, one of each covering a different stage of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

SPOILERS: Christmas Carol, Emily and a bit of Scully´s cancer arc.

CLASSIFICATION: Angst. UST. MSR. NC-17. A bit of case file.

DISCLAIMER: Of course, I don´t own Mulder, Scully, Xfiles or any of the other characters, cause if I did, we would have seen lots of sex in it. Just saying.

AUTHOR´S NOTES: I´m sorry for the loooong time I took with this chapter, it´s so difficult for me to write directly in English! Of course, having a great beta read like the one from Jessica Kurr always helps ;). Thanks to her, to the people reading and commenting on the story and to anyone who is taking a bit of time to read me. Please make any suggestions you may have in the reviews. As always, thanks to Ali, she knows why.

 _ **Part 2: Anger**_

 **Chapter 3**

 _SPV_

"I´m here".

I woke up to the sound of my partner´s voice, which weakly touched my ears before I began to open my eyes. When I did, Mulder was looming over me, his face slowly turning from concern to relief.

"Hey, it´s alright. I´m here." He gave me a prudent smile and tried to sound confident. He then turned his head to the right and ordered someone to get me some water, but I couldn´t see who.

"¿Mu… Mulder? What happened?" I managed to ask, still feeling dizzy and fragile.

"You passed out, Scully. But only for a second. You were about to hit the ground, but I got your back before you did." I could feel Mulder´s right hand holding my head softly, while he stroke my cheek with his left hand. The memories started to come back to my mind gradually. The case. The pictures. Mr. Garner.

 _Emily._

There was this accepted theory, this social _myth_ about grief which implied that nights were supposed to be the hardest part of the day. I had seen it in Hollywood movies and in bestseller novels all over again, the moment when the widow realizes that the house is too big and she is too lonely; the instant when parents must pass through his dead kid´s bedroom to get to theirs; the time of the day when silence brings the unbearable certainty of loss. It always worked like that.

Except for me.

For me the worst time was the awakening, the moment in which I opened my eyes and reality stroke a blow; the time to learn, and feel, and face all those memories again; the time to learn, and face, and feel _all the pain_ again. It was the moment to start a new day, a day that was just beginning but I wanted so badly to be ending, to give way to the night. Cause nights were easy: nights were dark and silent and solitary; nights were home of fatigue, time for the body to rest and to forget, to lose touch with reality and be welcome in the land of dreams; cause as long as we are sleeping, no pain can harm us, no pain can touch us.

But daylight is for the conscious, daylight is for the _sufferer._

And that was exactly the way I was feeling at that very moment.

We were still in the ground, right at the entrance of Mr. Garner´s place. I must have looked horrible in that moment, because my partner´s smile started to wipe off with my silence.

"Are you with me, Scully?" He asked, shaking my head smoothly with both hands.

"Yeah, I just… I´m feeling a bit dizzy".

"That´s ok. Don´t worry, I got you". He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and left my eyes to steal a quick glance at my lips, a strategy we used every time we needed comfort and we didn´t dare cross _certain_ lines. He then moistened his bottom lip with his tongue and looked me in the eyes again.

 _Oh god, don´t do that, Mulder, or I think I might faint again._

"Do you think u can get up?"

I nodded at his suggestion and he immediately took my hand and helped me stand up. He didn't release my hand at first; he just stood there for a second checking that I was ok. When Mr. Garner came out of the house with a glass of water we were still holding hands. He sent a sidelong glance but didn´t say anything, and Mulder was fast enough to release my hand before Rob had the opportunity to inquire about it.

"Here. Drink some water." He said to me while he passed me the glass. "How are you feeling, Agent? Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

I drank a little bit of water just to be kind, though I wasn´t really feeling thirsty. Food and drinks were the last thing that I needed in that moment.

"No, Mr. Garner. That won´t be necessary. I´m ok, I just… I just had a sudden drop in blood pressure, that´s all."

Mr. Garner nodded, but he didn´t seem very convinced.

"Well, you are looking very pale, Agent Scully. Maybe you should get yourself checked by a doctor".

" _I_ am a doctor, sir." I smiled at him and shook my head. "It´s ok. I have these drops from time to time, no need to worry".

Mulder had remained silent, respecting whatever explanation I wanted to give to Mr. Garner in order to avoid the real one, but the look in his eyes told me that he was going to give me a little "speech" once we were alone. For the time being, he was still scared for what had just happened, holding my back a bit stronger than usually.

"Do you want to seat down?" He asked me with the sweetest voice.

Mr. Garner nodded and pointed to the living room.

"Yes, Agent Scully, why don´t you come in and sit down for a while?" He suggested. "I can make you a tea if you want."

"Thanks for you kindness, sir, but it won´t be necessary. I think I´m going to the motel to lay down for a bit."

"I´ll take you there." Mulder offered.

"Are you sure you don´t want me to call an ambulance?" Mr. Garner insisted, his police sense of smell still making him feel a bit suspicious.

"No sir, thanks. I just need some rest and I´ll be back on the case ASAP". I assured him, though I think I was really trying to convince _myself._

"Don´t worry, Agent Scully. First things first".

"I´m taking her to the hotel and then I´ll go talk to David´s teachers and classmates." Mulder said to Mr. Garner. Rob nodded and stayed still for a moment. He then thought of something and took a business card out of his wallet.

"There you are. I know my personal details are in the report, but you have my personal mobile phone in here. David´s school is at the end of this street. Call me at any time, Agent Mulder. I´ll be with my wife for a while and then back to the Police Station."

"Ok, thanks sir. We´ll be in touch". Mulder put the card in his pocket and headed to the car again. I gave Mr. Garner a goodbye look before we left the entrance. He nodded back to me and added:

"Take care, Agent Scully".

Mulder then wrapped my waist with his right hand to support me better while we moved towards the car. He pulled me closer to him but I didn't matter, letting his embrace cover me with the strength and safety that I didn't feel at the moment.

"How are you feeling? Any better?" He asked me after a bit, already driving in the direction of our motel.

"I´m a bit better, yes. Still feeling weak, but I think a little rest will help me recover."

Mulder nodded, his eyes looking at the road.

"You sure you don´t need to go see a doctor then?"

I shook my head with conviction.

"I´m sure, Mulder. I think we both know why I fainted."

His glance left the road for a second and met mine.

"Yeah, talking about that…" He began, but I knew what came next and tried to change the subject.

"Mulder, I think we should alert national authorities of the potential threat of this... this phenomena in 9 and 10-year-old girls named Emily".

I swallowed uncomfortably, feeling a lump in the throat like I did every time I thought of or used that name.

My partner looked at me astonished.

"You are kidding, right?"

The determination in my eyes convinced him of the seriousness in my words.

"Oh, great, you are _not_ kidding". He remarked the last words, something that, somehow, made me feel furious. How many billions of times did I have to stand him telling me about his incredible, crazy, sometimes even illegal plans for a case?

"It´s crazy, Scully. Do you know how many girls exist in the USA named... with that name? Hundreds? Maybe even a thousand? There are not enough resources for that."

"I know, Mulder, but at least they should be aware of the threat".

"We can´t have every family alerted. We will just make the panic spread and we can´t even give them protection yet, not until we know what exactly is happening."

I hated to admit this, but my partner was actually _right._

"I´m not talking about alerting the families, Mulder. I´m just talking about authorities".

"I don´t know, Scully. I still think is a loss of resources at this moment." He shook his head in disagreement while he stopped the car at a traffic light. He then look at me, more disbelief than irony leading his next words: "And anyway, do you really believe in this supposed _divinatory connection_ between the victims? You, of all people..."

He didn´t finish that last sentence, but it wasn´t necessary: it hurt like a slap in the face anyway.

It took me a moment to recompose, tempted for a second by the idea of striking him back.

 _Literally_.

He soon realized he had been too rough.

"I´m sorry. I didn´t mean to be cruel. I´m just... surprised."

"I´m not saying they have a divinatory connection, Mulder. I´m just saying we should be cautious, that´s all".

"And how would you explain the relation, then?"

"I can´t say exactly, but I´m sure these kids knew each other from somewhere, though we still haven´t found the connection yet."

Mulder instinctively shook his head, not quite convinced at my point of view of the case.

But, again, when did we _ever_ agree on that?

"What about the deaths?" He asked, trying to give me credit, or maybe only trying to prove me wrong. "What´s your theory for that?"

"I still don´t know, but science will give us an explanation for that." I thought I could also use a bit of irony: "And anyway, _you_ are the man of theories, not me".

" _Touché_ ". He smiled back but didn´t say anything else. We made the rest of the trip in silence, lost in our thoughts of that creepy, nonsense case.

When we arrived to the motel, he insisted on walking me to the room and check that I was ok before leaving, although I had told him that it wasn´t necessary. He opened the door for me and carefully helped me sit on the edge of bed. He kneeled on the floor and took my hands with his hands. It reminded me to the time he was about to go chase Modell and he was trying to reassure me, only this time _he_ was the one worried, and _I_ wasn´t in the mood to reassure anyone.

"Do you want me to stay with you, until you are feeling a bit better?"

I shook my head at his suggestion.

"No, it´s ok, Mulder. I´ll be ok. You go investigate David´s school."

"You sure?"

"Yes". I replied quickly.

"Ok." Mulder nodded and looked me in the eyes. "Listen, I´ll send a national warning to all authorities after I visit David´s school, if that´s what you want. Hopefully I will be able to give some more details".

I nodded back at him and smile in gratitude.

"Thanks".

"But with one condition, only". Mulder gazed down as he played with my fingers. "Why don´t you drop this case, Scully? It´s obviously not going to help you recover..."

Oh, oh. Just when I thought I was free from the talk...

"Mulder, stop it."

"Scully, please. Just listen to me. I don´t want you to faint again or get sick".

I released my hands from his brusquely, looking away from him when I replied. That hurt him deeply, I could feel the pain in his eyes even without looking at him. It hurt him that I had rejected his physical contact maybe for the very first time in our relationship.

"I´ll be fine. Please, just let me rest". I didn´t exactly kick him out like Saturday, but it sure sounded like that.

He stood up and remained silent for a second. When he talked, it sounded like he also had a big lump in his throat.

"Ok, then. I´ll call you later to check on you. Try to get some rest". In normal circumstances, he would have kissed me on the cheek before leaving, just as he did every time I was sick. But I had just refused his touch, so he didn´t try twice.

I laid on bed when he left, wondering why the hell I was so unable to ask for help and, even more, to ask for comfort, when that was probably what I needed at the moment, especially if it came from Mulder.

It was everything I needed. Or, more precisely, it was the _only_ thing I needed right now.

I settled in bed and covered myself with the blanket. I closed my eyes and soon the fatigue took possession of me. I thought it would take me some time to fall asleep, but it was only a matter of minutes until sleep won the battle. When it did, I was still fantasizing with the idea of feeling Mulder next to me, cuddling me with his strong, muscular arms.

 _MPV_

It hurt me to leave her alone in the motel and investigate on my own, but I wasn´t in the mood to insist... and _she_ wasn´t in the mood either. As much as I love to work alone and follow my own leads, it didn´t feel right to focus on the investigation when she wasn´t feeling ok. It was something I was very good at hiding, as I had proved case after case when she was dealing with her cancer. I had to bite my tongue a thousand times to avoid questioning her about her health, but somehow I was calm enough because I knew that´s what she wanted from me, and I knew that things could be worse, that as long as she wanted to continue working, there was something to fight for.

But the fact that she had asked to take a break voluntarily scared the hell out of me, because it just confirmed my suspicions when being worried about her emotional wellness during a case like this. I would have preferred her to drop the case completely, but all my intents - all her boss´s, even all her mum´s - had been futile. I didn´t know when or even _if_ there were going to be more victims, but the thought of her doing the autopsy to a little child in this moment of her life freaked me out, especially if the name of that child coincided with her daughter´s . To be honest, I still wasn´t very convinced with that supposed connection between names, but if there was a remote possibility of being true and next victim was named Emily... well, I didn´t even want to think in the consequences of that.

I tried to shake off the negative thoughts and focus on the streets. The temperature was cold, as it corresponded to the beginning of winter, but the sky was rarely clear. It didn´t take me much to arrive to David´s school because as much as it seemed like a lively, crowded city, it was still five times smaller than Washington D.C. Distances from one point of the city to another were probably shorter than a whole trip around the FBI´s headquarters (if I ever dared to leave the basement, of course).

I didnt´need to ask for directions to the school: St. Peter Cristian School´s elegant, impressive building spoke by itself. Two reddish towers loomed large behind the very well-kept garden where boys and girls were chatting and playing during what seemed like a school break. They all wore the characteristic costumes of a private school - white shirt and checkered skirt for girls, suit and tie for boys. It seems like David had been a kid rolling in money until the day he died.

I entered the school and asked to see Mrs. Robbins, the Math teacher who was in David´s class when the tragedy took place. The janitor, also dressed in his best suit, told me to wait in the hallway. I walked slowly around the hall, paying attention to the students and the decoration on the walls. It was covered with photos of different trips over the years, where a bunch of cheerful kids smiled to the camera. Beneath every picture there was a black box with the year, grade and location written in white letters. I searched for David´s classroom just for curiosity. I knew from the report that he was in fifth grade at that moment. After a quick search, I realized that pictures were organized chronologically. As St. Peter School was an Elementary School, pics from the kids dated back to first grade. I made a quick calculation of David´s age and deduced that he would have study first grade during 93-94. I then checked the black boxes until I found David´s classroom back in June 1994, in what it seemed to be a costume´s party. According to the box, it was " _the party of nature_ " somewhere in Arkansas, which explained why kids were dressed up as flowers and trees. I tried to identify David, but at that tender age all kids looked alike. So I decided to move to the pictures of 2nd, 3rd and 4th grade. 2nd grade´s picture was made during a summer camp in Missouri which was organized by the school, though it was still difficult to identify David among his colleagues.

It wasn´t until 4th grade´s picture that I recognized him smiling with the rest of the class in a boat trip around Chicago´s bay. He looked exactly like the pictures that I had seen from him before the accident, which made complete sense as it had been only 6 months from that happy memory in Chicago. If only he know what was about to happen... For a moment, it reminded me of my sister Samantha, who had disappeared more or less at that age. I smiled nostalgic to the picture, almost forgetting a detail that had drawn my attention seconds before. I went back to the pictures from 1994 all over to the present, confirming what I had noticed: there was no picture of his class in 3rd grade.

I approached the janitor and kindly asked about the missing picture on the wall.

"Excuse me, I was hoping I could see all the pictures from David´s classroom, it could be useful for the case. I´ve noticed there are photos from his class from every course except for 3rd grade. Do you happen to have it hanging in some other place?"

"I don´t think so, Agent. I´m afraid there was no trip in 3rd grade that year. I can´t remember the details, but it was cancelled in the last moment. It was a pity, especially for the kids. The school prepares a summer activity for every class every course: summer camps, trips to Chicago, to amusement parks... The aim is to have an unforgettable memory of every course. That´s one of the many reasons why this school is so famous in Naperville. Anyway, there are many other pictures from that course, if you are interested: Halloween, Christmas, Thanksgiving... We celebrate and take pictures of everything in this school, Agent. Just let us know anything we can do to help solve this case, to help poor David rest in peace. This school is like a big family and David´s accident has been a tragedy for all the members of the school". I wondered if he was obliged to give the same commercial speech to everyone who entered the school, and just when I was about to interrupt, a woman who I supposed to be Mrs. Robbins appeared.

"Good morning,Dan." She greeted the janitor. She then looked at me and added: "You must be Agent... Mulder, from the FBI, that right?"

I nodded and shook her hand. It seemed like Mr. Garner had already informed about my visit.

Mrs. Robbins, a woman in her late forties, smiled at me.

"Please, come with me, Agent Mulder. I´ll show you the class".

I followed her to the first floor and to a huge, cozy classroom which had the latest in technology: a TV hanging in the wall, a projector over the teacher´s desk and two blackboards – a chalkboard and a whiteboard. Each student had his own individual desk and they all looked pretty clean and bright, almost as if they were untouched.

Shit, this classroom had more resources than my office in the FBI...

The only thing that disturbed the perfect atmosphere of the class was a dark spot located under a desk at the back of the class. That´s exactly where Mrs. Robbins headed.

"This is where David used to sit". She smiled, but hers wasn´t a happy smile. She looked at the desk with discomfort. Most of it was burnt and there were few remaining's of the green color that it used to have – it was mainly black now. The chair was also unrecognizable. "We haven´t thrown this yet, we can´t until the investigation is over. Honestly, we really don´t know what is best for the rest of the kids, to leave it or to keep it. Of course, we are not using this class for the moment, but kids are curious and they come all the time when they have a break." She sighed, and then continued. "The psychology that is trying the kids says that if we keep it for a bit, it can help them process David´s death." Mrs. Robbins shook his head, her eyes looking down to David´s desk. "I can´t believe he´s gone. He was only a boy..."

"I´m sorry, Mrs. Robbins. This is a horrible experience to go through. I hope we can soon find out what happened".

"I hope that too. I still can´t believe what happened here... I´m not credulous, Agent, and yet I have been treated like a crazy person these days every time somebody asked me about the incident. But I know what I saw. I can´t explain how it happened, but it happened."

I smiled politely. If only Scully was a skeptical open to believe in what she saw, even if it didn´t have an explanation... But Scully was a skeptical _and_ a scientist, and that changed it all.

"You can tell me about it, Mrs. Robbins. I promise I won´t think you are crazy".

She agreed, still unsure of her own testimony.

"There´s not much to say, actually. I was... I was explaining them how to make divisions, when I heard some of the students screaming and running away from David´s desk. I soon saw the flames around David and his screams of pain. For a moment I panicked and wasn´t able to move." She shook his head, probably feeling a twinge of blame. "After... after the initial confusion I went to David and tried to put the fire out with my jacket and with some other clothes from the students, but it only made it bigger. I run to the hall and ask other teachers for help, but it all went so fast... When we came back with an extinguisher, he was already... he was dead".

Mrs. Robbins swallowed heavily.

"The kids were so scared and so horrified... They couldn´t stop crying and screaming. I think this is the most traumatic thing I´ve ever seen."

"I´m sure it was. I´m sorry you and the kids had to see this, Mrs. Robbins". I wanted to be nice to collect all the information that I could. "I´ve been told that David pronounced a name before... before he was gone, is that right?"

"Yes, that´s right. Well, at least that´s what most of the kids said. I wasn´t in the class when he spoke, I had gone for help."

The news surprised me and pissed me off at the same time.

"So you really didn´t hear what David said?" I ask, only to reassure her answer.

"No, Agent. I was at the hall at that moment. I must say I find it hard to believe that David was able to say anything in that moment of panic and pain. All he could do before I left the class was scream for help, scream to please help him put out the fire..." Her voice came out invaded with emotion, and she took a moment to recompose. "Anyway, I don´t want to treat my students the same way people are doing with me, so if they say that David pronounced a name, I believe them. At least twelve of his classmates assured me that he had pronounced the name "Emily"."

I tried to contain my anger, because it wasn´t Mrs. Robbins´s fault. But that was exactly what I did _not_ need to hear, that the supposed connection between names came from the testimony of twelve little children who had just seen his friend burnt alive and who were scared the hell out of them. I didn´t know if it had been like this in the rest of the cases, but we had been consciously misled by the report when it said that " _both students and teachers heard him pronounce the name Emily_ ". Skinner had also informed me about it, but something told me that Scully and I hadn´t been the only ones misled. And, in the meantime, Scully had had to confront this horrible case in the worst moment of her life, a case I was less and less sure every hour that it was a real "X file".

"Are they sure the name he said was "Emily"? Do they all agree in that name, or are there any contradictions? He could have said "mum" or "dad" among the tears, and was misunderstood because of the screams; or maybe he was thinking of a close friend or a classmate." I know it was a long shot, but I had to try.

"Yes, they all agree in the name, they all heard him say "Emily". And no, there are no Emily´s in my class or in the rest of the groups in 5th grade, and he has no family or friends with that name, as you might already know from the family." She made a pause and looked me in the eyes. I think my face probably had the same expression that Scully used with me in most of the cases: the expression of _disbelief._ "I know it sounds weird, Agent Mulder, but I don´t think it´s possible that all twelve kids "invented" or misunderstood the same name, especially in that horrible situation, and also considering their...", she made a pause again, searching for the correct word: "their relationship with David".

I nodded until she made the pause, and then I focused in her last words.

"What do you mean with their "relationship"? What was his relation with the rest of the kids?"

"Oh, you don´t know yet?" Mrs. Robbins looked at me surprised. "Yeah, I guess his father hid that from the report. He never wanted to hear anything negative from his kid, you know? But the truth is that he was becoming a problem. His father would always say that he was only a kid every time I tried to talk to him, but David was growing and he wasn´t getting any better".

"Any better with what?"

"With his classmates, of course. Agent Mulder, David was what you could call a _little bully_."

 _SPV_

Emily is looking at me from the swing on the playground. Her bright hair is shining under the sun´s rays of a warm day. The playground is full of children and their parents, who have come to enjoy this beautiful day. I look at Emily from the bench and enjoy the pleasure of watching her playing, enjoying as if she was like any other normal kid. She meets my eyes and smiles at me sweetly. Her face is pure happiness, innocent and complete joy.

"Come push the swing, mummy!" She exclaims at me, the smile never abandoning her face. "Come play with me!"

I nod at her, also with a huge smile on my face. I lean my hand of the bench to help myself lift up. I only lose her eyes for a second, while I stand up and briefly comb my hair with my fingers. I can still hear her screaming and laughing.

"Mummy, mummy, come here, mummy!"

"I´m coming, sweetheart!" I scream back, taking our things from the bench. We have prepared a small picnic for lunch and put it all inside a wicker basket. I can see the chocolate cookies over the rest of the food when I grab the basket. I smile again. Nothing could be more perfect than this moment.

"Mum! Mum, please come here! Mum, help! MUUUUM!"

Suddenly, Emily starts to scream. There´s no joy or happiness in her voice anymore. I turn around quickly, searching her among the children in the playground. It´s easier than I thought: the playground is now empty and there´s only Emily and me there. Emily is out of the swing now. The sky is no more blue, and grey clouds threaten to rain. I look at Emily with alarm.

"Emilyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

The wicker basket falls from my hand when I meet her gaze. My mouth opens with horror at the image, the same horror I can read in her terrified eyes. Her tiny body is covered in flames from her feet to her arms, which seems to have appeared from nowhere. I shout at her as I run at her direction, trying to comfort her, to comfort _me_ at the same time.

"It´s ok, honey, I´m coming to you! It´s all right, mum is almost there!"

My heart is collapsing at the terrifying image. I´m running as fast as I can, but my feet don´t seem to move faster enough. I can see her crying and screaming, rolling on the ground and trying to put off the flames, but it isn´t working.

"Muuuuuuuuum, heeeeeelp!"

"Emily, I´m coming! It´s ok, I´ll be there in a second!"

But I´m still not there, I´m _never_ there, as much as I run desperately. I look down at my feet, only to discover that they are at the same spot they were at the beginning. I turn around abruptly, realizing that the bench were I was sitting a minute ago is right behind me. I´m in complete panic now.

I haven´t moved _a bit._

"Muuuuuuuuuuuum!" She is looking at me hopelessly; she is screaming, she is demanding, she is _imploring_ me to help her, and all I can do is watch her burn.

"Honey... you have to be strong, you have to be a brave girl and wait for mum... Mum will be there in a minute... But please wait for me..." The words come out of my mouth weakly, dishonestly, more like a desperate plea than a reassurance. I keep trying to run, trying to move, but my legs remain immovable. I look at Emily helplessly.

I don´t know how much time goes by like this, but it seems ages to me, watching my daughter literally _melt_ in front of me. Emily´s cries have decreased little by little while the flames gain ground. At some point, she stops moving and lays down, she just lays down on the ground and waits.

Oh no. _Oh_ , _no, no, no._

She knows what is coming. I know it too.

My heart breaks into a million of pieces.

Emily is completely covered in flames now, laying down still, unable to move anymore. The flames are almost covering her face now. She looks at me one more time. She isn´t desperate anymore: she is just _sad._

"Bye mummy. I love you mummy." Her last weak words are for me, right before her face disappears under the flames and she stops being a human, she stops being my sweet little Emily.

And then I think I´m also going to disappear in pain and sorrow.

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo".

I scream at the top of my lungs, but my voice doesn´t come out anymore. Instead, I hear the sound of a beep, almost sounding like it was an alarm.

"Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz..."

What the hell is that noise...?

...

I woke up sharply, my heart beating frantically in my chest. It took me a moment to realize where I was: at bed, at the hotel, in Naperville.

It was all a dream, I told myself. It was just a nightmare and it´s over now, I thought, relieved. It was all in my head, Emily is not burning, Emily is not dying.

Only that she was stilldead.

My mobile phone on the night table was ringing. I seat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. I could feel myself totally covered in sweat. I finally took my phone from the night table and looked at the screen.

Mulder was calling me.

I doubted for a moment, but I finally decided not to pick up the call. I was not in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment, even less to Mulder. I would return him the call after a long, repairing shower.

As soon as I felt the hot water running over my body, tears started to flow down my face fiercely, unstoppably, unavoidably. The dream had only been a dream, but waking up to reality wasn´t much of a relief: Emily was still gone, I was still barren and my life was broken. I had lost the goal, I have forgotten the excitement. I felt distracted, unfocused, uninterested. I had entered the FBI to save lives, to make a difference, and all I had obtained were a bunch of unsolved cases, a trip to the deep insanity of my partner´s crusade and a long, never-ending list of collateral damages which included the latest two, my infertility and Emily´s death. Never in my whole life had I thought I would live to see a daughter die, to attend helplessly to her death. Me, a woman of science. Me, a woman of solutions. Me, a woman who never gave up. I honestly wondered, while my tears got lost in the warm water, where was that woman now and why I was incapable of bringing her back.

My mobile phone was ringing again when I exited the shower. I didn´t have to check the screen though, I was pretty sure of who it was and what was it about. I mean, it was always about him anyway, wasn´t it? I was sure that it was Mulder and that it was about him and his crucial, undeniable and, most of all, urgent leads to the truth which required all of his and, of course, all of _my_ time and expertise. That´s why he was calling for the second time, as he did when he wanted to share something very important with me... - Well, only if he had enough time to update me and felt enough consideration to have me properly informed before running directly into the next lion´s den.

I didn´t bother picking the call for the moment. Instead, I searched for the number of the Unit for Viral and Bacterial Diseases Research in the little phone book that I always kept with me in my wallet. I refused Mulder´s call and called the UVABD to set an appointment for the following morning. It was uncommon of me to end his calls, but, oh well, so was it to lose a daughter.

I got dressed and dried my hair faster than usually, feeling a brief relief after the horrible nightmare which had left me shivering and trembling. Mulder was calling me for the third time now and, although I had to admit that he wouldn´t normally insist that much if I wasn´t feeling ill, and that his sincere concern should make me feel flattered, I couldn´t get away from the feeling of anger, from the pure rage which threatened to take control of myself.

I was mad at my body, I was mad at my family, I was made at CSM and at the FBI and at this horrible case. I was even mad at Emily. But, most of all, I was mad at Mulder.

Cause he had lied to me, cause he was a man angry and frustrated with the luck of honesty of people and of the government who hadn´t doubted not even a single second to hide the truth from me. Cause his selfishness and his obsession wouldn´t let him equal his own losses to mines. Cause his paralyzing guilt bothered me more than it touched me, cause it wasn´t worthy and it wasn´t useful at all.

And, most of all, because he was probably the only person who really cared that I was this angry.

I needed to forget so much irritation and so much anger. I needed to let it go, to stop bleeding so much pain from this broken heart.

And that´s when I had a wild, unexpected impulse.

 _MPV_

It was already the fourth time that I had tried to reach Scully and I was starting to get a bit nervous. I tried to say to myself that she was just resting deeply and hadn´t waken up yet, but I knew my partner had a quick awakening and used to answer the telephone right away... unless something was wrong. That thought didn´t stop to cross my mind one time after another, and just when I was about to head to the hotel, she finally picked the call.

The _fifth_ call.

"There you are, sleeping beauty. I was starting to get worried. Did you manage to rest a little bit?"

There was a loud background noise when she picked the call and I wondered if she was watching TV.

"i would have, if you hadn´t been calling me every five minutes."

I almost lost the control of the wheel at her surprisingly rude answer, something I wasn´t used to _at all._ I thought about how to proceed for a second or two.

"I´m... I´m sorry, Scully. I was concern that something might have happened."

"Yeah, right."

Her reply couldn´t have sounded not even a bit more ironic than it already did. But that wasn´t the only thing that I had noticed, because besides the rudeness and her tone, I could feel that the background noise was not coming from a TV.

"Where are you, Scully?"

"Nowhere, really." She laughed sharply, and by her laughter I realized that she was talking figuratively. "So, tell me about the case. What are the news you were so eager to tell me?"

I sighed and let it go. I knew it wasn´t time to pick up a fight. _Another_ fight.

"Well, it seems like David wasn´t the perfect kid that his father has in mind. I spoke with his teachers and with some of his classmates and they all agree that David was a little devil: he stole money and food from some kids, copied homework, cheated on exams, hit and fought with half of the school... Summarizing: he was a classic textbook bully."

"And this information is useful because...?"

The way Scully composed the question left no doubt that she found no value at all in what I had just told her. It reminded me to her insolent attitude when we had gone to investigate that weird case of a _chupacabras/_ vampire in Texas.

"And this information is useful because it increases considerably the list of suspects."

I knew before I finished that it wasn´t the correct answer. First, because "increasing considerably" the suspects was far from being something useful; and second, because I knew that Scully would not believe me when considering the case as an homicide.

That´s why I wasn´t expecting for her to let it go.

"If you say so..."

The next noises sounded diffused over the phone. She then added something, but by the direction of the sound, it didn´t seem like she was talking to me.

"I´m sorry?"

"Oh, I wasn´t taking to you, Mulder." She said, though she could have said " _Mind your own businness_ " and it would have sounded less insolent. "Not everything is about you, you know?"

It was the second time in our relationship that she mentally slapped me with that sentence. And, although she was generally right to think that, it was just not fair to use it in _that_ very moment, worried til death as I had been for her since she had decided to be part of the case. I shook my head and drove silent for a minute. I then tried to please her, even though I knew it wouldn´t make a difference in the mood she was.

"I already set a national alarm concerning a possible next victim named Emily". I decided not to tell her yet about my doubts with what the kids had heard. For the time being…

I wasn´t expecting a "thank you" from her... At least, not a sarcastic one.

"Oh, thank you very much, Mulder. Well, and I have called the UVABD and they are coming tomorrow morning. You are very welcome".

I could swear I heard her drinking something between stab and stab. Or, better, I could swear she was drinking, period. That would explain a lot of things. The sarcasm, her mood, her slightly slurred speech... and, especially, the voice at the background asking her if she wanted another tequila.

"Have you been drinking, Scully?"

Ok, it wasn´t the clevest question in the world.

"Elementary, my dear Mulder."

I could feel her rolling the eyes even through the telephone.

"Where are you right now?"

I knew I wasn´t getting a solid answer.

"I told you, Mulder. I´m nowhere."

"Scully, please, let me help you. When have you left the hotel?"

"When there was nothing left for me at the minibar."

 _Shit_.

"Scully, tell me where you are and I´ll go and pick you up."

"Oh, no worries, Mulder. I´m in good company here".

 _Shit. Shit, shit._

"Scu..." I heard a click and then the communication was cut.

She had just hung up the phone.

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 4**_


End file.
